New Kid At Camp Campbell
by Tsuyoshi-chin
Summary: Max meets a kid worse off than he is. Rated T. Originally posted on my AO3 account. :3


Posted & Reposted Originally On My AO3 Account! XD

Sum: Max meets a kid worse off than he is.

A/N: Max Meets Kit (my OC)

/

With his newest escape plan ruined by David, again, Max sighed. He's seated comfortably alone by Lake Lilac. Nikki and Neil are off doing their own thing and the so called third new camper hasn't showed yet. Not even after all the chaos that accrued with crashing the bus and police being called in for umpteenth time. 'Probably figured coming to this fuck up "camp" wasn't worth it, good for them.' He thinks as the bushes behind him start rustling. Quickly turning around he pulls his pocket knife out, pointing it in the general direction of the sound...waiting.

The bush rustles some more and what steps out isn't what Max thought it would be. Seriously, not at all what he thought it would. Instead of a bear or wolf, a boy...girl? Fuck it! It's a boy. Instead of introducing himself said boy just ignores Max and the knife as he walks past to sit by the lake.

Max can't help gapping at that.

The fuck?!

"Who the hell are you?!" The smaller of the two yells still holding the knife in a threatening way.

The boy rolls his eyes while laying on his side still watching the lake as the sun start to fall into the grown over the horizon. "Name Kit, obviously."

The smart comment sparks anger in Max as he scrawls at the new boy. "Listen smartass, I don't know who you think you are but I got here first. Now get your ass up before I-"

"I'm the third knew camper that didn't show up this morning, the bus left before I could even leave my house. Some weird white guy with red hair picked me up and drove me here. My parents couldn't bring me, because one of them is dead. The other is off doing things I don't care to recognize," Kit stands up walking over to stand before Max. This causes the smaller to take a step back, the pocketknife forgotten but still in hand.

Yet Kit continues to speak not scared in the least.

"They do things like leaving the house at odd hours of the day only to return home at odd hours of the night a drunk mess. The more technical term is hammered shitless. Then out of nowhere they would hug me and cry into my shoulder. Sob loudly, saying they are so sorry they're a bad parent. After the show of waterworks they'd go to their room, sleeping 'til morning.

Next day, same thing again... rinse and repeat.

Sometimes the pattern changes to where they blame me for all their problems. Having things thrown at me if I don't get to my room fast enough or I'll have to prop a chair in front of my door to keep them out in order to escape through my bedroom window. When I get back to the house after the fit is over... I'm hugged and told it'll never happen again. They repeatedly promise they won't hurt me anymore. However, they end up doing it all over again; the fucking liar.

Some days the hatred is still there once I return home:

I've had my legs broken, been stabbed multiple times and choked until unconsciousness. Beaten until concussed, had a tooth punched out, luckily a baby tooth, and fingers broken one by one. I once had a heavy boot stomping on my chest breaking two ribs, dislocated arm after being tossed down the stairs, and told, "Get up I'm not done with you yet." Only tried to committed subside twice, gave up after realizing I'm too much of a coward to kill myself."

Finally he directs his eyes on Max's shell shocked teal eyes. Kit's own red ones look hollow and bored in setting sun light like as he continues to speak. "Whatever you do to me is a cake walk in comparison."

With a sigh Kit walks off back to where he came from, probably to the mess hall. It was dinner time after all, but instead of following Kit Max puts his forgotten knife back in his hoodie pocket. He then frowns heading for the campers tents. Food wouldn't be able to fix the shear shock of what he heard.

Sleep might, if what happened moments ago doesn't give him nightmares.


End file.
